Relocating

Dear Readers,

Fellow blogger, Yazan, has moved his blog from Blogger due to the fact that Blogger is banned in Syria and most people here have difficulty working around it, including me. After seeing his new site (which is very nice), I decided to try the same. I have moved to Mariyah's Blog (http://mariyahsblog.wordpress.com) on Wordpress and am hoping that the problems will be overcome there. This blog will remain active but all of the posts from here have been successfully uploaded to Wordpress and I will be continuing my new postings there. Hope you'll join me at my new home.

Mariyah

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra - Part 11

On September 15th the thickest, darkest rain clouds imaginable loomed over Stuttgart. The rain fell in thick, heavy, and unrelenting droplets; indiscriminately soaking everything in its deluge. Only several individuals braved the fierce rain on the usually busy Konigstraße, scurrying across the wet pavement and bent under their black umbrellas. In the grayness, the tall, stone buildings took on the appearance of enormous megaliths; their blackened windows like empty eye-sockets punctuating their facades. Even the trees and flowers were a shade of gray as if the skies had sucked up every color left on earth and replaced it with a monochrome gray.

Ghassan stood precisely at the corner of Konigstraße and Kronenstraße at 2 o'clock and leaned against the tall black street lamp. He had arrived early for fear of missing Alexandra should she not have waited for him if he had been late. He cocked his umbrella to shield himself as well as he could against the rain, but even for his best efforts, his leather shoes and the bottom half of his pants were soon soaked. He watched the street alertly – he had planned to whisk her quickly into the closest café to protect her from the rain.

Ghassan's heart pounded at the thought of seeing his fair Alexandra again. He envisioned her shining eyes as they looked into his and her petal pink lips as they curved into a gentle smile. He remembered the softness of her delicate, ivory hands and the gentle feminine fragrance that arose from her hair as she leaned against him. His ears rang with her lovely Scottish lilt like the music from the lute of some Pictish faery. While he held to these thoughts he felt sheltered from the bleakness of the day.

As time moved on past 2 o'clock, Ghassan watched each and every face as they approached. Rarely did a passer-by notice him; the misery of being wet and cold set into their expressions. Each small, female figure, as it drew near, brought a small flutter to the base of his stomach and then a pang of disappointment as it became clear that the form was not that of Alexandra's. By half past two, Ghassan was starting to feel the cold. His pants dripped and the dampness had made its way in, around, and through his entire body. As time ticked onward, Ghassan started to feel the misery he had seen in so many other faces on Konigstraße.

It had not occurred to Ghassan that Alexandra would not show deliberately. He had been concerned that she may not have received his message, but Frau Hanauer had assured him that she had placed it on Alexandra's desk where she would be sure to find it. What could be keeping her? Was she due to return later than was expected? Was she ill? Was she lost? The questions circulated in his mind. For a moment he though he should search for her but he couldn't pull himself away from the corner. What if she appeared and he was no longer there? But it was nearly 3 o'clock. He decided that he would start walking toward Frau Hanauer's. At least if Alexandra were on her way, they would cross paths. If not, he could find out from Frau Hanauer what had kept her.

Past the pedestrian area of Konigstraße, cars splashed along the streets in an almost rhythmic fashion, their lights illuminating the torrents of rain. Ghassan trudged onward as the water squelched in his shoes and his umbrella struggled against the wind. He no longer took in his surroundings but rather tried to avoid other people and objects while he ducked behind his umbrella. As he reached the steps of Frau Hanauer's he stopped and looked up at the brightly lit windows. He was admiring how welcoming it appeared when he noticed a figure sitting in one of the upper windows. The form was so familiar and Ghassan felt a jab of pain in his heart as he realized it was Alexandra. She seemed to be looking into the distance, across the roof-lines and not down to the street. He stood immobilized, staring up at the window as the rain pelted his face. (to be continued)

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra - Part 10

It was a clear and bright September day in Stuttgart as Alexandra entered the front doors of Frau Hanauer's home. The large wooden doors opened with a welcoming creak and the soft carpeting inside the doors cushioned Alexandra's feet. At once she felt the excitement in the household. Several of the other girls had also returned that day. There was commotion upstairs as they unpacked their belongings and reacquainted themselves with their rooms and with each other. Alexandra stood motionless in the ample entrance and sighed deeply as she looked up at the ceiling.

Frau Hanauer was not long in discovering Alexandra's presence. She was the kind of person who always seemed to be brimming with happiness. She greeted everyone with a large smile and a bouquet of courteous and encouraging words. She always made anyone feel like the most important person in her life. Today was no exception. Frau Hanauer embraced Alexandra with a warm hug and chatted merrily as she helped Alexandra take her bags to her room. Once there, she paused briefly to look at Alexandra and with a sympathetic smile left Alexandra alone in her room.

Alexandra's heart fell. She knew what that look had meant. Before leaving Scotland, Alexandra had gathered the nerve to tell her father about Ghassan. The day they stood in the library alone, as the rain beat against the window, she faced her father with every strength she could muster. She spoke of the man who now held her heart; the man without whom she could not imagine her life. She told him about Magnolia blossoms and Damascus in a summer's evening. She wore her heart on her sleeve hoping her father would see how much she needed him to understand and to support her. Her father was quiet until she finished, and when she was finished he spoke the most horrible six words she had ever heard. I forbid you to see him.

Alexandra's father's face appeared as though made of stone. The more she pleaded the harder it became. When she cried, he dismissed her. As she left the library, beside herself with anger and grief, she heard him pick up the phone. In perfect German he addressed Frau Hanauer: “Madame. My daughter will not accept phone calls from any men, save myself, and shall be accompanied by a chaperon should she leave your home. Alexandra is not to see or speak with any men outside of school. She is at the university to study and not to find a husband.” Alexandra wanted to burst in on him and to tell him that he was being ridiculous and cruel. But she knew better. Chances were that the situation would become worse had she done so.

Outside her bedroom window, Alexandra heard the song of a lone lark perched in a nearby tree. The notes seemed to fall flat as they reached her window ledge. She sat, deflated, on her bed and looked across the room to her dressing table whose polished, bare surface offered little comfort. In fact, much of her room appeared rather dismal. How could she make it through the year knowing that Ghassan was nearby but never being able to see or to talk to him? She suddenly felt a strong hatred for her father. She had always done his bidding and never argued. She decided that he had no respect for her and had no trust in her judgment. Why, all the way here in Stuttgart, should she have to respect him?

As tears welled in her eyes, she suddenly caught a glimpse of a small note tucked into her writing pad on her desk. At first she dismissed it, but finally curiosity became too much for her to resist. She grabbed the note and her heart pounded as she recognized Ghassan's hand writing. Welcome back to Stuttgart, sweet Alexandra. Please, can we meet? Sept. 15th at Konigstraße and Kronenstraße, 2 pm? I will await you. Your Ghassan.

That was only a day away. (to be continued)

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra - Part 9

The last breath of summer hung hot and heavy over Damascus when Ghassan received the letter from Alexandra. He had visited the postal outlet many times in anticipation of its arrival, and until this day, had always departed with a keen disappointment. When the letter was placed in his hand, there was no doubt in Ghassan's mind from whom it had come. The tiny mauve envelope was addressed in Arabic lettering with an obviously unpracticed hand. As he released the letter from the envelope a lovely, feminine scent accompanied it. Before he read it, Ghassan marveled at the tidy and intricate lettering that formed the words in which he was so looking forward to immersing himself.

In the solace of his father's courtyard, a place where Ghassan always found privacy and some peace from the busy streets, he began pouring over the precious document. He had not wished to read the letter hurriedly but rather to reflect upon each description, emotion, and memory he was sure he would find within. He had wanted to savour everything she would tell him. Ghassan greatly enjoyed letters and had realized that they can impart so many things about their writers – thoughts, feelings, ideas; more than you might come to understand through a verbal conversation. Of course, that all depended on the skill of the writer and whether or not they purposely withheld information from their reader. But then, as much can be learned from what isn't written as is written. For the most part, however, writers tended to be more free with their thoughts and he hoped the same would be so for Alexandra.

Initially, Ghassan was not disappointed. As he began reading, her words washed over him like a soft sea breeze – gently with a whisper of eternity. He found her reflections thrillingly fresh and innocent. He wished so much to be with her as much as she had written that she wanted to be with him. But suddenly the wonderful thoughts and feelings vanished, as quickly as they had arrived, as he read about Alexandra's father's reaction to Syria. A deep chill came over him.

“Politics!” he growled to himself and rose to pace the courtyard. “This cannot happen!”

Ghassan had come so far through some of the most turbulent times in the history of Syria. As he was growing up, Syria was dealing with an occupation, struggling for and with independence, immersed in the second world war, suffering general upheaval and several coups d'etat. Nevertheless, Ghassan had made it through high school and on to university, and was finally accepted at a foreign university to finish his studies. And now, that he had found the love of his life, the Cold War was going to separate them? A flood of emotions and uncertainty surged through his body.

Ghassan resolved that he would do everything in his power to make sure that he shielded both Alexandra and their love from the claws of bigotry created by the current political situation the world was facing. He would look her father in the eye so the man would see that he wasn't dealing with a country but rather a person; a person whom his daughter loved! But perhaps, he thought, he was overreacting. She hadn't actually told her father about him, she had just asked about Syria. But still, if he had such a negative reaction to the country, surely he wouldn't be more positive about those who inhabited it. And then a more sobering thought occurred to Ghassan. What if his pursuit of her drove a wedge between Alexandra and her father? He would, then, be responsible for destroying her family; alienating her. Would she hold it against him and he would be left with nothing to hold?

Ghassan's staggered as his eagerness to return to Stuttgart had been quelled. (to be continued)

Music on the Side

Unchained Melody, sung by Jimmy Young, topped the charts in the UK in the summer of 1955. Have a listen below. I think its absolutely fitting at this part of the story. Enjoy.

Alternatively, if you can't use the player go here to listen.

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra - Part 8

July 25, 1955


Dear Ghassan,

Thank you for the most wonderful and romantic letter I have ever received. I will cherish it always. The day I received it, I jumped with delight when I saw that it was postmarked from Syria. As I sat to read it, the tears streamed down my face from pure joy. Your words are so beautifully poetic. I couldn't put it down for the rest of the day. I held it for a while in my hand and carried it in my pocket everywhere I went. That night (and every night since), I slept with it beneath my pillow. I think I dreamed of you until the morning when I awoke. As I write this letter, yours is placed just above. It truly brings me happiness and lifts me above the dreariness of this wretched place.

I find myself yearning terribly for Stuttgart. The memory of our day at Wilhelma is also clear in my mind. It was like a dream – a sun-filled dream. Here in Aberdeen, it seems, its always wet and cold. Even when the sun shines, I still feel a chill. I often go to the seaside and stare longingly at the horizon as the cold wind, whipping off the icy waters, conspires to blow me asunder. The knowledge that across those waters lies the land that brought us together, a place to which we'll return to soon, is the blanket that warms me. Never before have I so desperately wanted to return to school!

As much as I would like to shout your name from the top of every mountain, I have only told my closest girlfriend about you. When I first returned home, I asked my father what he knew about Syria. He practically dismissed me on the spot. With a wave of the hand, he muttered something about Russia and left the room. When I pressed him further, his words frightened me into silence. I am so eager to share my happiness with anyone who will listen, but now I am truly afraid of my father's response. My mother would be sure to tell my father, so I have avoided confiding in her as well. In my nightly prayers, I have asked God for guidance, but he seems unresponsive. Oh, Ghassan, the secret is gnawing away at my heart!

Please write again and tell me more about your wonderful homeland. I'm sure to you it all seems quite ordinary, but to me, reading your descriptions is like reading passages from an adventure book; a novel where the hero travels to exotic lands full of bizarre and fascinating treasures. I wish, too, with everything that I am, that I could be there with you. But, I keep reminding myself that September is only a little over a month away, and then we'll be together in Stuttgart once again.

Until then, I wish you well, my dear, sweet, Ghassan.

Sincerely, with love,
Alexandra

(to be continued)

Another Musical Post

One of the most popular songs in the Middle East in 1955 originated from the Egyptian film Days and Nights (Ayam We Layali). In the film, the star, Abdel Halim Hafez, an Egyptian, serenaded the heroine with I'm Yours Forever (Ana Lak Ala Tool). I can't say with any authority that it hit the Syrian airwaves that summer, most likely it did not. But perhaps you can imagine, anyway, that Ghassan was listening to it as he composed his letter. You can play it below:



Alternatively, if you cannot use the player, the direct link is Ana Lak Ala Tool.